Storm Of Chaos
by Davard
Summary: A great evil is stirring in the northlands of the Old World. Soon the terrible hordes will descend upon the world and only one man can stop them, Valten, chosen of Sigmar.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Everchosen

The great chamber stretched before the dark figure, huge vaulted ceiling stretching as far as the man could see, reaching up and up until it dissolved into darkness. The chamber's high walls were adorned with the faces of those who had displeased the four gods, their bodies eternally fused to the wall, only their faces remained, bound into some kind of limbo world where the insatiable hunger ached in their guts yet they could not eat, the tiredness ached in their very bones yet they could not sleep, even taking their own life was beyond their power. The twisted, hateful faces stared back at him from the walls, enough to unnerve any normal man, but the dark figure was no mere man. Wresting his gaze away from the tormented eyes the dark figure dropped down on one knee on the cold stone floor and began to pray. For a while he stayed there, uttering his dark mantra to the gods, asking them to bestow favour upon him in the task ahead.

The place was amazing, the figure would be happy to spend an eternity here, amongst the wonders of its ancient halls. Yes, an eternity would not be too bad. To serve the gods would be his life, his dreams, and his every waking thought. Slowly the dark figure began to slip into unconsciousness, eyelids drooping, his mind succumbing to the hypnotic effects of this most hallowed place, respected and feared in equal measure by all follows of Chaos. But then the mind of the armoured man began to fight back, willing him away from the edge of the abyss and a fate of eternal servitude. Slowly the figure raised his head and stood up. There was a crack as the stone beneath his knee was ripped up and the man looked down to find a knee shaped indent in the stone floor where he had almost sunk in to the join the faces of those inside the floors and walls. Below him, the face of a woman stared up, her face a mask of anger, almost as if she was bitter at being deprived of company. Walking amongst the old and dusty pews he remembered his life as it had been….

The man now known as Archaon was once a man of peace and enlightenment. He had lived a life of luxury in Altdorf, working as an understudy priest to the grand theognist. He would aid the ageing man in all his tasks, sorting books for him from the Imperial Library, preparing his food, reading him ancient texts and so on. Yet Archaon was not content, he wanted more. His utter desire for power corrupted him, for years and years the want festered inside him, turning him wild. In his desperation one year he broke into the Imperial Library using a key stolen form his master and began to search for a book that could tell him how to gain the incredible power he so wanted. At length, as the first rays of sunlight reached through the glass and illuminated the piles of dusty books, Archaon found what he had come for. He dusted off the book and without looking at the title began to skim through it. He knew it was the right book the moment he picked up the hard leather bound tome. The book was old, very old. The pages were yellow and crinkly to touch; it bore burn marks on several pages leaving them incomprehensible.

Smiling, the young priest of Sigmar read on. The book began to take its effect on Archaon; it promised power to the one who followed the gods of Chaos. It blasphemed against Archaon's religion with every sentence, yet as much as he wished to submit, snap the book shut and never see it again an irresistible force kept him reading. Suddenly Archaon cracked. He snapped the book shut and stood up. Howling to the heavens he cursed the gods as liars and cheats. Screaming in rage he took the lamp that he had brought to read in the dark and threw it upon a pile of papers setting them ablaze. Soon the whole building was on fire, ancient manuscripts burning to ashes. Archaon left the building, flames licking at his heels.

Yet his story was not over. Returning to the house where he had lived and worked for so long he walked in the front door, and took up a butcher's knife from the kitchen. He ascended the stairs, burst into the Grand theognist's room and brutally murdered the old man where he laid, sleeping. Next Archaon returned to his old family home. He knocked down the door with one kick and found his mother and father sitting at the table. He paused for a second, thought about what he had done. But then the thought was gone and he bellowed with rage, stabbing his mother and father to death in quick succession. After the terrible deed was done he stepped over their bodies and calmly left the house.

The young man then went back to his house, packed a small knapsack of his belongings and set off on his journey to the promised lands of which he read of in the accursed book, the land where he could finally find his destiny, the land where he would gain ultimate power.

Once he received his mark and became a fully fledged servant to the dark gods of chaos, he adopted a new name, Archaon. Aided by the chaos gods and his now unnaturally long lifespan, Archaon spent the next four-hundred years searching for the six legendary artefacts that, it was written, would turn he who possessed them into the greatest warrior of chaos that ever lived. He had now received five- the Mark of Chaos, the armour of Morkar, The eye of Sheerinan, Dorghar Steed of the apocalypse and his latest acquisition, the demon sword Slayer of Kings which contained, within its core, sealed there by long lost magic, the demon U'zuhl.

Now Archaon at last stood on the verge of completing his long unfulfilled quest. At the end of the tunnel behind the ornate carved door and past the bloodthirster, Greater demon of Khorne was his final goal. The crown of domination, the sixth and final artifact of chaos and the one that would bring him the ultimate power he madly craved.

Archaon descended the passageway in long strides eagerly anticipating his prize. At length he reached a room. The room was small, only 10 or 12 paces long. The actual floor space was a small platform of rock above a pool of molten lava. Demons hovered above the lava on their black wings, baying for blood.

Archaon entered the room, stood in the centre of the platform and looked up. Above him stretched the ceiling in a long funnel shape but so high that he could not see the sky above at all. U'zuhl cackle and screeched at the terrible aura it could feel within the place of dread, it screamed and writhed within the confines of the sword wiling the ancient magical bonds to break but they held firm. Raising his sword high up in the stifling air, ancient energies crackling and buzzing sending electric blue flames off in all directions, Archaon bellowed his challenge. "Y'nrthrag Hathkel Ighlehio…" _He who dares… _"A'ghtrad achevie…" _To challenge me_… The final part he said in the common tongue, "Then come forth and meet your doom!" With his final statement of intent the black winged demons began to laugh. They laughed and laughed in high tones, getting louder and louder. The sounds ripped into Archaon's fragile mind, whispering thoughts and hidden promises, screams of death and torture, enough to drive a mere man insane. Yet Archaon was no mere man. Still the creatures laughed until at their demonic and terrible crescendo a deep booming sound joined their laughter. On and on it went; slow rhythmic booming like a drummer on the march to war. With each huge boom the walls shook and dust flew around the room, the lava spat molten rock into the air, burning the ground where Archaon stood. At this point any sane man would have turned and ran for their life but Archaon was driven by a wild desire for power and control and had all four chaos gods themselves come forward to answer his challenge he would not have faltered. Archaon knew his destiny. Abruptly the demons stopped and began to chatter to each other nervously sending anxious glances around the small room. Through all of this Archaon stood impassively awaiting what was to come, what he knew was his final challenge. Silently while chaos reigned all around him, Archaon stood and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**The encroaching storm**

Six months later Valten stood on a rocky mountain plateau, scanning in all directions. He stood bare-chested, despite the bitter cold, and carried the composure of a man far beyond his years. Standing nearly a foot taller than any man he had ever known, still only 19, Valten was as strong as any adult man. He stood with a look of iron resolution on his face, his long dark, shaggy hair coming down past his collar. His olive brown skin bore the scars of many battles, a testament to his strength and endurance. But the most remarkable thing about Valten was the mark he bore upon his chest. Emblazoned on his bare chest as if by branding was the mark of Sigmar, an ornately drawn twin tailed comet. The mark had been there since his birth and many believed that was a sure sign of his divinity.

In his hands he carried a huge glittering war hammer, Ghal Maraz, literally, _splitter of skulls, _in the ancient dwarf language. It was the ancient hammer of Sigmar and bore the double lion crest of his nobility, each lion reaching forwards as if to devour whoever the hammer struck. Valten was the new chosen and thus carried this ancient and deadly weapon. He stood staring at the horizon.

To the south lay the harsh snow covered lands of Kislev and the border kingdoms. Here the terrain was also desolate, it was too cold for most plants and the land lay empty for several miles until the walled city of Kislev itself was just visible through the fog on the horizon.

The jagged rocks of the chaos wastes spanned out before him as far as he could see. They stuck out like sharp hands, ready to take the unwary to their death. The sky was blood red broken up only by patches of gloomy grey clouds. Over towards where the sun should have been setting a huge mass of fog, and dark loomed out of the desolation. It had been there for several weeks, slowly encroaching on the domain of men and other creatures, soon it would be here eating away at the spirits of the defenders of the world of light and order.

The storm was but the first step, the preparation for the giant invasion that would follow, one gigantic mass of Evil, rolling towards the opposite pole of the world, consuming everything in its wake. If it succeeded in its purpose the world would be ruined, all the land red with blood and tainted with foul energies, a swirling vortex of chaos where the normal laws of physics and reality did not apply. Valten knew, no army could stop its terrible power, no one could. Yes it could be defeated for a while but it would come back as sure as time went by. The eternal battle of chaos and order could never be truly won.

This was abnormal though. Already Valten heard whispers, of Dark prophecies and evil champions, of children born with strange mutations, beast men gathering in the forests of the empire and other abnormal events. Most of it was rumours and hearsay but one name he found consistently. Archaon, lord of the end of time. This troubled Valten extremely, since his youth he had dreamt of a man of fire sweeping through the world destroying time itself. He sincerely hoped his dream was not prophetic. In it Valten always died in a climatic battle with the man of fire but succeeded in saving the world from a terrible fate.

"Lord Valten?" Said a voice from behind him.

"Valten." He replied. "I am no more of a lord than anyone here." He gestured at the small group of armoured Reiklander swordsmen huddled together on the edge of the plateau. "I am merely Valten." He finished.

"Valten." Said the voice. "Night approaches fast and evil things lurk in this part of the world." The man who spoke was Luther Huss, priest of Sigmar and self appointed high guardian of Valten. He was short and round but well muscled with a wizened old face. He had a flowing white moustache and a small amount of grey stubble on his chin. He too carried a war hammer, but it bore no significant history.

"Put your faith in me." Said Valten, turning to Huss. "I will protect you." As such it was only half hearted attempt to make Valten leave as Luther was beginning to feel the cold.

Luther didn't really expect anything dangerous to turn up and even if it did it would be in no danger. In a skirmish with some goblins a year or two ago Luther had seen Valten take a spear through the chest from a wolf rider going full pelt. He was astonished to see, several minutes later Valten stand up, pull the spear out of his chest and throw it like a javelin into the head of the goblin it came from.

It was based on feats such as this that Huss placed such utter faith in Valten's divinity. Unfortunately many of the empires most prominent citizens did not see it this way. If they felt threatened, were jealous or just plain didn't belief his story Luther dint know, but he did know he had to convince someone to publicly support Valten before it was too late and the tides of Chaos razed the empire to the ground.

Luther snapped out of his thoughts in an instant, Valten was careering towards him at full speed, before he knew it he had been knocked halfway across the plateau. With an almighty crash a dazzling fireball flew through and impacted into the ground, creating a huge crater and charring the rock around it. The men behind Luther all drew their swords and advanced slowly towards the crater.

In them middle was a charred, smoking body. Luther looked closer and retched at the stench of the burnt flesh. He knew it was Valten long before he saw Kharaz-a Karak lying next to the hideously burnt corpse. Yet even as Huss watched, the pain welling in his heart, the charred flesh began to heal, remarkably the burnt and blacken skin was soon slowly being replaced with new as though knitted by some unseen hands. Huss smiled yet it was soon replaced with despair as he heard another fireball falling down towards where Valten was lying helplessly. If it hit its target, not even Valten would survive.

Suddenly Luther grabbed a shield from one of the gaping soldiers and threw it like a frisbee across Valten's healing body. It worked, the wooden shield was completely destroyed by the fireball but the small disc of wood had managed to deflect the bulk of the power and flames onto itself. Not one flame touched Valten as he lay.

Quickly Luther looked up scanning the sky for the source of the fireball. Hovering several meters in the air, leathery wings beating rhythmically, stood a horrific monster. 10 foot tall it had blood red and ornate bronze armour. It arms were muscular and strong and its legs resembled those of a goat, with black cloven feet. Its head was beast like with razor sharp teeth in his gaping maw. It had horns and it held a huge bronze axe in one hand and a massive, cruel looking whip in the other. Saliva dripped down from its mouth and splattered on the rocks, slowly dissolving them into a pool of bubbling red acid. Huss hefted the hammer in his hands and prepared to fight.

Somewhere within his broken body, Valten stirred. The dream came every time he allowed his eyes to close so he rarely allowed himself to sleep. It always started the same… A lonely figure stood on the hillside wreathed in mist which chilled him to the bone. Shadows grew all around him yet the man did not once flinch or think to run away. Then at once the figure turned. He waved at Valten his eyes filled with joy and a happy grin on his face. Valten took few steps forward but suddenly a dark shape reared up from behind the man. It would have been invisible were it not for the mist. Then it happened, the huge shape became a monstrous man made of fire. Its eyes burned like the depths of hell itself, its body glistened like a furnace. The man gazed at Valten a look of confusion on his tender face. Valten tried to shout out in warning but nothing came out, there was nothing he could do. Transfixed he watched as the man of fire stood up behind his friend and clove him in two with one sweep of his mighty hand. The mist slowly seeped into Valten's clothes, the man advanced with it. _Change._

Valten landed squarely in the middle of a muddy road. Altdorf, he guessed although he couldn't be sure. Buildings were burning all around him casting flickering flames up into the night sky. Men in armour as black as midnight ran past him, cursing in an unknown tongue. From time to time frightened people ran past, screaming for their life. Suddenly a hysterical woman holding a baby ran towards him. She tripped up and landed face first in them mud and dirt. The baby began to scream and kick around inside its swaddle. She picked it up and held it tight to her chest. Turning she saw the black shape that loomed out behind her. Valten tried to move but this time he was successful. He careered forward, trying to save the woman and her baby. He hit the woman full force but he got a strange feeling in his stomach and rebounded back away as if he had hit and invisible wall. Blood matted his forehead yet he did not care for himself only for the safety of the woman and her child. Again and again he tried to reach them but no avail. Slowly he sank back down into the mud and shed a silent tear as once again the creature struck and mother and baby both fell in a bloody heap. _Change. _

Valten landed once again in the muddy street but it was not as he had left it moments before. All the buildings were ruined, rubble lined the streets. Valten suddenly noticed the bodies. Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies were piled up in the middle of the street. They lay in odd piles, dismembered arms and legs lay everywhere, broken bones sticking out at strange angles. Young and old. Weak and strong. None had been spared the slaughter. Valten tried to stand up. Once again he was successful. He saw a large silver war hammer lying next to him. He did not know why but as he always did in the dream he picked it up. Hefting it in his hands he advanced slowly down the street, skulls and body parts crunching and squelching under his boots. Suddenly, as he knew it would, the huge man of fire appeared behind the mound of corpses, its body resplendent against the grey sky. Valten looked up at it, fire in his own eyes. "Come and take me." He shouted. The words flowed out like he was reciting something he had learned long ago. Whosever words they were they were not Valten's alone. The man of fire stared down for a few seconds. "I am Archaon, Lord of the end of time." It bellowed, tremendous volumes of noise spewed forth with every syllable, bricks and tiles tumbling from the few buildings still standing. Valten's teeth rattled, yet still he stood firm.

"I know who you are." Said the man who was yet was not Valten. "Yet today the slaughter ends, today you die. Let us end this battle once and for all!"

The demon man began to laugh, the ground shook.

Valten charged forward, mounting the pile of bodies in a single leap he swung the hammer in a massive arc, the demon roared in pain and fell to its knees. Again Valten struck his hammer crashing into the demons stomach. Again and again Valten struck the beast, hammer blows raining down upon its stomach. Filled with hatred Valten would not relent for a second, his body simply would not allow him to give one inch to the murderous beats of chaos. Suddenly a huge black rip appeared on the beast's skin spewing forth arcane energy. The rip widened, splitting the beast in two, it screamed a terrible scream as wind ripped at Valten cutting him badly, yet still he stood, still he watched. Finally the beast roared one last time and it exploded outwards blackness covering everything, blocking out the sun. Valten flew through the air, limbs lifeless and limp, but he was blissfully unaware of his own death. Somewhere in his broken mind Valten's eyes slowly began to open.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The board is set

Hundreds of miles away under the setting of the deep, red sun two men sat on an elaborate, stone balcony overlooking the ancient city of Altdorf. Capital of the empire, Altdorf had been there as long as man had been. It was there, albeit a village, when Sigmar was born. It was there when the last chaos incursion swept through the lands of the free, it was older than time itself, so it seemed to many, but in the history of the old world it was but a blink.

The city stretched forward before the men on the balcony, grey and misty. The balcony was on a huge palace in the rich part of the city, marble domes glistened in the setting sun and horse drawn carriages rode across the cobbled streets taking their rich owners back to their mansions in time for supper. Almost directly in front of the balcony spanned the great plaza, a huge open area of purest marble and filed with beautiful parks and ornate fountains. Further away, in stark contrast to the cleanliness and the quiet of the rich quarter was the poor part of the city or The Pit as some of the richer inhabitants of Altdorf called it. Here the streets were packed with mud not cobblestones and you were lucky if you ever even saw a horse if you lived in this part of the city. Here you had to watch your throat as well your purse if you walked the streets at night, murderers and thieves roamed the streets at will as the authorities largely left this part of town to itself. Further along from the Pit lay the housing or slums where most of Altdorf's one million inhabitants lived. Running through the middle of this hive of dirt and depravation ran the river Reik, lifeblood of the empire. Then came the wall. An absolutely huge wall ran the whole way around the city which was circular in shape. Armed guards patrolled the wall day and night and a trench full of razor sharp stakes stood at the bottom. If a guard fell, he _never _survived.

The two men sat at two chairs on a silver table laden with expensive food and the best wine. The first man was an elf. He looked awkward on such a small chair but he was anything but really. Wearing a sparkling white gown, hemmed with blue satin and gold leaf he looked every inch the powerful mage he was. With a long nose and piercing eyes that stared right into your soul, he was a striking figure. He was Teclis, high Lore master of Hoeth and one of the most powerful mages ever to come from the elusive shores of Ulthuan, Isle of the elves.

The second man was tall, for a man, and strong and had an aura of goodness and purity about him. He too was dressed in a blue although his shirt was mostly covered by the brilliant chest of gold armour he wore. His face was kind and caring, not particularly handsome but good looking in his own right. He looked the sort of man you would be glad to have on your side. His name was Karl Franz and he was emperor of the largest human country in the old world, the empire of which Altdorf was the capital city.

"Storm clouds gather in the north," said Teclis, staring out over the city. "Soon they will come and sweep the world before them."

"Who?" Replied the emperor, taking a piece of meat and chewing on it slowly.

Teclis did not touch the food but took a cup of mint tea and took a deep sip. _The man is a fool._ _The death of his race may soon be at hand yet still he sits and eats like nothing is wrong. I have nothing but contempt for the race of man, yet if they die then all hope is lost so for the moment, at least, I will have to grin and bear it. _"The gods of chaos." Said Teclis. "They will raze the world to the ground if they win this war. None will survive."

The emperor swallowed his meat quickly. "What can we do to stop them then? Our armies are stretched to breaking point as it is. We just can't cope, the Orcs are launching a new Waaggh from the badlands, dark elves sail the seas, preying on unwary souls and worst of all, in our own empire the vampire counts rise again from the depths of Transylvania. We have not a hope in hell."

Troubles also plagued the Empires cities. Unnatural or bizarre incidents whilst not commonplace were begging to happen more frequently. A boy with two heads here, a man driven mad by warp stone there, a baby born with no arms or legs, the ground suddenly opening up and swallowing a man to his death. All such things were no good for morale. A minor incident could be swept under the carpet, witnesses paid off or told to keep quiet, committing the victim to a mental asylum and so on but incidents such as these… well they were a different matter.

"Not entirely true. Has it not occurred to you that it is because of the chaos incursion that all this is happening? The winds of change shift, they know that the time of chaos is coming. They speak to all the evils of the world and they all rise to accept its call. They may not be one army exactly, but they all follow the same purpose. The destruction of humanity." Said Teclis.

"Well what can we do?"

"Nothing." Said Teclis. "We will just have to hope and pray."

_Great. _Thought the Emperor. _The wisest man I have ever known gives us no hope whatsoever! What can I do now?_

"But," Said Teclis. "We can hold them back for another thousand years at least. We can win the battles. We just can't win the war." On a balcony in Altdorf, Karl Franz was now slightly happier than he was before.

A day later Karl Franz sat on a throne in the hall of the electors debating with his chief servants, the elector counts. He studied the assembled group with a sense of bewilderment. This was the smallest meeting in hundreds of years, certainly since Karl became emperor. _4. _He thought. _4! _Assembled around the table were the four out of 13 elector counts that had made it to the meeting that was held every 4 years on the anniversary of Sigmar's death. Quickly he recited the reasons for the absentees, for the benefit of the scribe furiously scribbling away in the corner. "Absent today is Otto Von Rehargel who is currently fighting a campaign against bandits in his region. Also absent are Klaus Jenshhargen and Wolfgang Hirsch who are both fatally ill. I regret to inform to inform you that three of our number are dead. Kraus Von Krishven and Markus Von Hellton both died in suspicious hunting accidents and Heinrich Von Gluchven was found stabbed to death in a locked room with no windows, at the top of the tower. When guards finally smashed down the door, with the aid of an ogre they had hired they found no means of false entry. The others simply have not appeared at this meeting for circumstances unknown to me or others." He read. "Anyone who knows their whereabouts may speak now."

"They're dead." Stated Teclis abruptly. "I sensed 6 deaths before the start of the meeting. Three you know are dead, 3 others are too."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I just know"

"Who are you anyway?" Said Wolfgang Klaus, the oldest count at the meeting. He stood up, his long white beard flowing.

"Wolfgang, Wolfgang!" Said the emperor, trying to defuse the situation. Klaus had quite a temper on him when provoked. "Wolfgang this is Teclis, a mage from Ulthuan, he is here to help." Teclis stood up.

"Teclis, this is my old acquaintance Wolfgang Klaus."

_Acquaintance_, Wolfgang thought._ It should be me in that seat not you, you young upstart!_

"Charmed," Said Teclis sarcastically.

"Do not speak to me like that young man!" Roared Wolfgang, pulling his frostfang sword from its scabbard. Within seconds Klaus was hovering several meters up in the air, his sword flung to the far corner resting at the shocked scribe's feet.

"For your information," Snarled Teclis. "I am in fact 7000 years old. Which makes me 10 times older than you, _young_ man."

"Yes, ok. Now put me down."

"Say please."

"_Please_ put me down."

Klaus slowly fell back into his seat. Teclis sat down and with a wave of his hand bought Wolfgangs's sword back into its scabbard.

"Now," Said the emperor, trying to come to terms with what he had just seen. "Let's get down to business. If anyone present wishes to speak he must raise his hand, I will then give permission to speak."

"We must send…" Teclis completely ignored what had just been said and began to talk, the emperor cut him off with a sharp glare. _Fool. _Thought Teclis. _But it's their barbaric culture; I'll have to follow their rules. _Teclis sat down again and reluctantly and slowly raised his hand.

"Teclis may open the meeting. Any objections?"

Wolfgang Klaus briefly thought about raising his hand but then retracted the idea sharply with a sharp look from the elven mage. _It's like he can read my mind! _

"Ok then, Teclis. Proceed."

"We must send troops to Kislev. There, will be the first major battle of the war."

Kurt Angelus raised his hand. "Speak."

"If I may say so, no disrespect to your judgement, master elf," Kurt said, casting a wary eye in Teclis's direction. "But I believe the garrison at Kislev will stand firm." Kurt was elector count of Kislev, the most northerly province of the empire and thus closest to the chaos wastes. Kislev was a hard place, cold and bitter its people doubly so. Weakness was an unknown word in Kislev; if you were weak you died from the cold in infancy or were killed by one of the many types of voracious snow wolves that roamed it during winter. That was just if you were lucky. Chaos raids by marauders worshipping the dark gods were a yearly, even monthly, experience. To be taken as a slave by these savage barbarians was the ultimate torture, death was but a release from their terrible enslavement.

"No," Said Teclis. "The garrison _must _be reinforced, if it is not Kislev will be razed to the ground less than a week after the first wave. That I promise you, for I have seen it my own eyes."

"If Teclis says he has seen it then I believe him, we send more troops to Kislev."

"My lord, respectfully, I completely disagree. Our troops would be better off taking care of the troubles within our own lands; do you not know of the problem of the vampire lords in Sylvania?"

"Kurt, while I do understand the Sylvania situation I feel that the best option is to take care of the situation at hand. Wolfgang, do you have anything to say on the subject?"

"No, my lord." Wolfgang grunted.

"Good, Replied the emperor. "Then who can spare the troops for this mission?"

Not one of the four men raised their hands.

"Sad days, Said the emperor rising from his seat. "A sad day it is when a noble elector count will not answer a call to arms from his master. Where is the brave spirit of old, where is the willing to help fight for your country and your ruler? That spirit is no longer to be found. Will anyone prove me wrong and answer my call?"

Suddenly there was an almighty crash as a stout, armoured and bearded man strode into the hall clattering the scribe to the floor. "I will," He gasped his face red with exertion. "And I would have answered it sooner if it weren't for those damn gobbos on the way here!"

"Good evening Otto," Said the emperor grinning at one of his oldest friends. "Welcome to my hall. Teclis, meet master Otto Von Rehargel who you presumed dead. Otto meet Teclis, esteemed elf mage and wise companion."

Otto shook Teclis hand vigorously. "Been a long time since your kind visited these shores," He said jovially. "And a sad thing too." Wolfgang Klaus smiled falsely. He hated Otto. The fat fool spent too much time feasting and drinking than doing anything worthwhile but then he was the emperor's pet and staying close to him would bring Wolfgang much needed favour.

"I can spare two-thousand highly trained men, no more no less."

"Thank you Otto." Said Karl. "Please…take a seat." He waved towards the table and Otto pulled out a chair and sat down with a heavy sigh.

"Permission to speak, Sir."

"Permission granted, Otto."

"That Waaagh needs to be dealt with soon. I've seen their leader, big brute he was. If I didn't know better I'd say it was our old friend Grimgor Ironhide.

"Ridiculous!" Said Kurt Angelus. "Grimgor Ironhide perished over 30 years ago. I saw him with my own eyes. He was hit by a cannonball square in the chest! No-one can survive that."

"Von Carstein?" Said Teclis.

"That was different."

"Different my arse." Said Otto. "They never found a body and anyway, I know what I saw and what I saw was Grimgor Ironhide. I don't care what you have to say."

"Well Grimgor or not the Orc threat still has to be delt with," Said the Emperor, sensing the tension. "What is the news on our allies in Brettonia?" He motioned to the scribe.

"Well sir…" the scribe bowed deeply. "Our Brettonian friends are stalling on the deal. King Leoncour is very… stubborn. He believes that the Brettonians can ride the storm out on their own, sir. If I may say so sir, I believe he is a pompous buffoon."

"Pompous buffoon he maybe but he is still one of our most important allies and at the moment we need all the help we can get. So I would appreciate it if you did not express your private opinions in front of me, do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Ok, well then…"

"Sir?"

"What is it?" The emperor snapped.

"Do I write that down? In the minutes, that is."

"Write down what?"

"Our conversation about king Leoncour," Said the scribe. "Do I write it down sir?"

"Come here." The Emperor waved his hand and the scribe hurried nervously towards the throne. "Yes my liege?" He squeaked.

"Hand me the notepad."

"Yes sir." The scribe tentatively handed over the notepad.

"Now look." The Emperor held the blue notepad up in one hand and took out a silver dagger with the other. "Watch carefully now." He said and drew the dagger up. In one clean motion he sliced the book in half. The scribe bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. "Now get out of my sight." Shouted the emperor and threw the notebook out the open window. The scribe hastily ran out of the room, possibly to hurry downstairs and collect his notes from where they had landed scattered in the streets below.

"Guard, lock the doors so he cannot get back in. Oh and if you hear him listening at the door you have my permission to remove him with whatever force you deem necessary."

The guard nodded and made his towards the door.

"As I was saying, Teclis, if you are willing, you shall be my emissary to king Leoncour," Said the Emperor. "You will travel in luxury and under the highest guard second to no man but me."

"I have my own guards. Watch." Said Teclis and waved his hand and uttered an incomprehensible command. At once as though a sheet had been lifted, 4 guards in long white cloaks with flame pattern hems appeared in the chamber. They each carried a wickedly sharp long sword, as long as a spear of man. Each golden hilt was encrusted with jewels and rubies. Upon their heads they wore conical golden helmets with wings on either side.

"What treachery is this!" roared Wolfgang and sprung up from his seat. Wildly he slashed at the nearest elf warrior. His frost fang pierced the Elf's shining mithril armour and buried deep his gut. Before the dead elf even hit the floor Wolfgang flew across the room with tremendous force and smashed with an ominous crack into the far corner of the room where he lay still, neck bent at and odd angle.

At once uproar erupted in the room. Several guards rushed in, swords drawn, and Kurt Angelus was suspended like Wolfgang before him several feet in the air. The elves silently blended back into the shadows they had come from. "Put him down!" Roared one of the guards and with a flick of the hand he too was floating like Kurt. Otto roared heartily and bashed his fist on the table, his face red with laughter.

"Order!" Shouted the emperor and stood up. "Teclis put Kurt down. Guards get a physician to attend to Wolfgang. Never, not in a thousand years have such events occurred in this chamber!" He roared. "An utter disgrace! I should have you all thrown in the dungeons for this!"

"I see I cause friction here. I will leave for Brettonia now," he said. "Goodbye." And with that, he clicked his fingers and disappeared in a puff of bright purple smoke.

Otto steadied himself slightly. "That elf… absolutely bleeding Fantastic!" He began to laugh again but cut short with a harsh glare from the emperor. Kurt Angelus picked himself up, dusted himself off and sat down again. "OK, after that debacle we shall discontinue. Gentlemen return to your private quarters, we shall meet again tomorrow."

The night was pitch black and utterly starless. Only the slow flicker of the torch carried by the black cloaked and hooded figure prevented utter darkness. As the figure walked slowly beside the river Reik he felt only disgust that it, once the mightiest river of the empire, had been tainted so foully by the incompetence of Karl Franz and his leadership. The figure walked slowly and deliberately, he knew where he was to go by heart. Soon he reached one of the many small bridges that crossed the river and he left the dusty road. Walking down the steep bank for a while he came to the small section of beach that went under the bridge. Walking to the shoreline he stood as the waves washed over his feet, waiting for the contact to arrive. He waited and waited for what seemed like an age, until at last a second black cloaked man, also carrying a torch arrived. He walked slowly onto the small patch of beach and sauntered up to the man he was her to meet. Without speaking he held out a hand. The first man rummaged around in his pocket for a second and pulled out a blue notepad, held all the way down the middle with special glue, mixed by the alchemists of Altdorf. The second figure purred softly and took the notepad. Then looking around to check there was no-one nearby he said coldly "The Emperor and the elf will be dead by tomorrow, you have my word," With that he turned slowly and walked away and disappeared around the corner. '_Fantastic!' _Thought the first man. '_Tomorrow the empire shall be mine!'_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

First Moves

Hundreds of miles north of the where the emperor currently sat council, on a rocky mountain plateau in the Worlds Edge Mountains the man who's fate would also be that of the world, stirred and flicked open one eye. Lazily he looked around and suddenly became aware of the terrible pain that was engulfing his body from the waist down. Slowly he brought his head up and looked at his legs. They were burning horribly; an acrid smell of charred flesh pervaded the air. Yet Valten knew he would heal and for now he had to save his friend and mentor Luthor Huss. Standing he took a few tentative steps forward, testing the new grown bone and skin for its strength. Fortunately he found it to be adequate if not completely healed and he took another few steps towards the miraculously mark free hammer lying on the ground where it had fallen. Slowly he picked it up, feeling the smooth cold metal in his hands again he was instantly at ease.

Now he walked confidently as before and strode up the lip of the crater. Around him was a terrible sight. Body parts of the four Reiklander swordsmen littered the ground; a head rolled towards him and came to rest at Valten's feet, eyes still wide with terror. Valten uttered a silent prayer for the man's soul and kicked it out of the way. His eyes came to rest on the hideous demon that had attacked them, intestines dangled down from its blood covered maw and in its hand it held a man. A tall, rotund man with a whiskery white beard, trying futilely to fight his way out of the beast's terrible grip. With an outcry Valten screamed loudly "Put him down, beast!"

The huge demon turned its head to face him, surprise quickly registering on its dumb face. It roared immensely in anger, and the ground shook with its terrible sound. Almost absent mindedly it threw Huss roughly to the ground and turned its attentions to Valten, a bigger and more important prize. Roaring again it threw its head in the air and stamped its cloven feet, great cracks appeared in the earth and it panted heavily, steam issuing from its gaping jaw.

"Fight!" Roared Valten. "Or are you to afraid?" He sneered. Bellowing a demonic howl to the heavens it charged forward, all muscles and sinew in its body stretched to breaking point, salivating in preparation for the kill and the feast that would follow. Valten stood unafraid of the beast almost twice his size as it rushed towards him, in fact quite the opposite he seemed as if to laugh in it's face. As it came closer, time seemed to slow for Valten as he leaped into the air and above the creature's body. With an ancient battle cry he swung Ghal Maraz in a glittering ark, smashing the creature's skull into tiny fragments, pieces of soft brain tissue and jagged skull fragments flew off in all directions. The blow almost took the foul demons head off completely, destroying the left eye socket, breaking the jaw and smashing its tiny brain into a million pieces. With a howling cry that came from no natural source a great rift appeared in its stomach, its essence was sucked kicking and screaming back to the void from whence it came.

With a thud Valten landed on the rock, crouched low and ready to strike. Slowly he lifted his head, raised his hammer and screamed as loud as his lungs could "Is this …" He pointed at the charred spot that marked the only evidence that the demon had ever existed. "The best you can offer? Well bring it on!" He roared with laughter and collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily. Slowly he noticed the demon's foul head rolling towards him, mouth agape with shock. At this he began to laugh hysterically and rolled over laughing, his eyes wt with tears having laughed so much.

Luthor Huss walked forward unable to comprehend what he had just seen. That demon had managed to kill four of the best swordsmen the empire could offer with effortless ease yet Valten, a young man who wore no armour save his skin had killed it single handed with one mighty hit from his hammer. So what if he is a little mentally unstable, he thought studying the hunched form of Valten on the ground still laughing. He is the chosen of Sigmar and nothing can dispute that. Slowly the venerable priest of Sigmar dropped to his knees and bowed down before the one he knew would save the world. Valten, chosen of Sigmar.

The great armies stood facing each other across the blackened wasteland of the Chaos wastes. The great horde of Orcs and Goblins milled about misbehaving badly; frequent fights broke out, only to be quickly quelled by the Black Orc Bosses who strolled up and down the ranks to keep some resemblance of order. Up on the hill next to where the goblins busily prepared their stone throwers for firing, scurrying back and forth pulling heavy rocks in groups and being whipped by the cruel orc overseers, Grimgor Ironhide stood. Standing almost seven foot tall Grimgor Ironhide was the single biggest, and therefore most powerful, Orc ever sighted.

He was built like a fort, huge muscles as thick as tree trunks and powerful legs that could propel him across flat ground a lot faster than his size would suggest. His dark green skin bore scars of countless battles and his many tattoos and broad shoulders made him even more menacing. Oh his bare chest he proudly sported a mark that him feared and respected with equal measure. A huge section of bruising and many bandages showed where almost 30 years previously a cannonball had hit him square in the chest. Since, among Orcs, strength and endurance are respected more above anything else he wore nothing upon his chest to demonstrate to anyone that they were not to mess with him.

Grimgor's head was also big and uncompromising, his tiny red eyes poking out from under a mass of scarring. His huge jaw, broken a million times, contained four massive incisors for ripping apart meat and many other sharp teeth, corrosive saliva dripped down from his mouth and onto the floor, bubbling away. In his thick muscled hand he carried the huge axe Gitsnik, literally _foe killer_ in Orcish. The huge double bladed axe head engraved with crudely drawn symbols and patterns imbuing it with magical powers.

Behind Grimgor, shackled to a gigantic boulder by almost unbreakable chains was Grimgor's pet wyvern Gutmucnha. At least 10 foot tall it twisted and turned, and struggled against the chains that held it to the rock but to no avail. From time to tie it took petulant swipes at the goblins rushing to and fro past it and occasionally, if an unwary gobbo strayed too close, it would grab one and devour it whole. Grimgor didn't mind, he believed it helped create an image of fear around him. During times of non war, (Rare for orcs) Snotlings (Kid Goblins) of Grimgor's tribe often used to play a game of chicken with the gigantic beast, seeing who could get closest to Gutmuncha without being eaten. Invariably the game ended when one of the unfortunate little Snotlings was munched into tiny pieces by the ravenous wyvern.

Grimgor watched his army struggle to stay in shape and surveyed the order of his troops. Grimgor was as intelligent as most normal men, which for an Orc was practically genius like. Most of his intelligence came from the sorcererous crown of Azhag that he wore on his head for many years but lost in the same battle where he gained his cannonball scar. Although he currently was not in possession of the crown it was one of his goals to eventually find it again. Whilst in possession of the crown it constantly whispered tactics and suggestions in his ear and although it no longer did so, Grimgor maintained much of the knowledge it had given him.

Grimgor's army was arranged much unlike a usual Orc army which usually operated on the basic principles of '_charge, charge, fight and leave da tactics to dem uvva lot_.' Grimgor had grasped a basic principle of tactics. His missile troops and artillery were almost all deployed on the hill to give them better range, his fast troops like goblin Wolf Riders, Boar Boyz on the flanks and his mass expendable troops in the centre, Mainly Goblin spearmen and Night Goblin foot troops. Also in the centre behind the goblins were Grimgor's personal troops, big ferocious units of black Orcs and the biggest and most vicious normal Orcs in the army. The orc army would operate in a pincer movement, drawing the enemy in and attacking from the flanks with their fast troops. Grimgor himself would take up a position with the Black Orcs, ready to defend against any counterattack should the Chaos hordes overcome the goblins in the centre.

Finalising his battle plan in his head, Grimgor turned his attention towards the chaos army also lining up on the other side of the battlefield. The chaos commander, Crom the Conqueror had placed all his toughest troops in the centre and lead by example, the huge figure clad from head to toe in ornate bronze and blood red armour stood out a mile away, right at the forefront of his troops. Behind Crom stood all his best troops, rank upon rank of heavily armoured Chaos warriors, disciples of the dark gods, each carried a large wickedly sharp axe to cut through flesh and bone alike. Grimgor studied the ranks for a potential target and seeing the brightly coloured figure dressed in a long flowing robe he turned to the black clothed hobgoblin and, uttering a barked command, it sped off through the ranks to find the chaos wizard and bury its blade poison deep into the fragile mages back.

Also in the chaos army were hundreds upon hundreds of long haired, tattooed and muscled humans who wore very little clothes or armour. They were the bulk troops of the army and would easily be dispatched. At last, raising his head in the air and staring to the sky for the aid of Gork and Mork he raised up Gitsnik, and roared to the assembled troops with all his might "WAAAAAAGH!"

At once the orc army surged forwards as one, a green tide of destruction surging towards the enemy, ready to decimate anything in its path. At once Grimgor noticed that the orcs in his army were not following his plan; the flank troops had got carried away in the rush and were charging headlong into the enemy lines, ahead of the rest of the army. Grimgor realised that if they hit the enemy before the rest of the force they would be taken down one by one by the highly trained Chaos warriors.

Acting quickly Grimgor turned and leaped onto Gutmuncha's back and dug in his heels. The wyvern screamed and threw itself forward ripping the boulder from the earth. Quickly Grimgor grabbed the reins and directed it across the centre of the battlefield to the flanks, easily the wyvern's leathery wings outpaced the boars surging forward and Grimgor landed gutmuncha right in front of the unit. "Wait!" He yelled. "Dey'll be plenty of humie skulls to bash later, when da uvver boyz get ere, right?"

"Right boss," Said Borgut, his second in command, riding the biggest and most ferocious boar of the lot. Grimgor leaped off Gutmucnha's back, clicked his fingers and the wyvern flew off to land back on the hill. Turning Grimgor watched as the foot troops charged across the battlefield, running over the bodies of their own fallen kin even as the merciless arrows of the Chaos horde struck them down.

As the ferocious tide of green warriors, wielding brutal choppas above their heads Grimgor turned his attention to the enemy. Screaming insults and chanting terrible mantras the savage, wild, bare-chested warriors stood impassively. Even as each black, poison tipped arrow struck home into the body of the tattooed tribesmen another stood up to take his place. Grimgor started into the sky as a rushing sound echoes across the battlefield followed by a deep boom and thud as the first missiles from the stone throwers smashed home, destroying flesh and bone, sending blood spattered bone and body parts across the battlefield.

Grimgor shouted for the wild men to attack back yet still they stood as more and more of their number fell. Suddenly a massive shout came from Grimgor's left and he turned to see the first of his boyz smashing into the enemy line, a clash of blade upon blade. Watching, Grimgor smiled as the impact of the charge took the orcs headlong into the enemy ranks, causing innumerable casualties. At length the chaos tribesmen overcame their initial shock and began to fight back. Seeing the centre giving way Grimgor motioned for the Boars to charge and ran forward towards the mêlée in the centre axe held high above his head. With a roar of brute force Grimgor smashed into the enemy infantry beheading four of the mighty sweep of Gitsnik.

Roaring his delight Grimgor pushed on hacking and slashing blindly, with each sweep of Gitsnik's terrible curved blade another enemy fell dead at Grimgor's feet. With Grimgor's aid the orcs slowly began to take a foothold in the centre. The smell of death and gore hung in the air, Grimgor was splattered with blood, hundreds of both sides lay dead yet still neither side gave a bloody inch. Even as the fur clad warriors began to flee from the terrible sight of a demonic, blood soaked Grimgor he mercilessly hacked them down, breaking bones with his sheer force and felling yet even more marauders with each swing of Gitsnik's deadly blade. Grimgor had an insatiable appetite for death and wanton destruction, only when every chaos warrior on the battlefield lay dead at his feet would he stop.

Suddenly the giant Orc realised something. He couldn't find the enemy general, the bronze clad warrior he had seen earlier, the one they called Crom the conqueror. Grabbing a frightened marauder lying on the floor Grimgor pulled him closer to his one good eye to get a better look. The man was of average height, and wore plain trousers of brown leather. He wore no armour and sported many tattoos on his chest, his long braided hair stretched down to his waist.

"Where Crom?" He shouted.

"Hmfff…Hmffff..." The man struggled to reply and Grimgor realised his grip around the mans throat slightly. "May Nurgle curse you for every breath you have left in your body!" The man choked out and spat in Grimgor's leering yellow eye. Grimgor roared in frustration and squeezed so tight on the man's neck it snapped instantly like a twig. Throwing the lifeless body aside like a rag doll Grimgor strode onwards into the thick of the fighting.

With a smash from his mighty fist he cracked the skull of the first Chaos warrior he had found. He knew they were tougher than the rest of the chaos army. For him of course, they were no challenge but to the rest of his army, they were different. Grimgor picked up black armoured figure and clove him half with a sweep of Gitsnik. He took the man's Torso and held it up. Looking around Grimgor grabbed a broken standard bearing and effigy of Mork laughing. Shouting a cry of "Soz Mork!" he ripped off the thin cloth and impaled the top half of the chaos warrior on the standard. Hoisting it up in the air like some kind of macabre trophy he roared with satisfaction and shouted to his beleaguered troops. "Look, deyre not dat 'ard to kill!" With this a great cheer came up from the Orc ranks. Suddenly veering off to the left Grimgor moved over to where the boar boys had completely decimated the chaos left flank and were now working their way round to the centre. Frantically he looked around, spotted who he wanted and almost pulled Borgut of his boar with one hand. Quickly he spotted a spiky armour clad warrior walking up behind him, turned and bit the man's head off, powerful teeth sinking into the man's neck snapping it instantly. The headless body stumbled to the ground and Grimgor spat out the gristle with a mumbled "Coward."

Quickly he turned his attentions back to Borgut. "Where da gobbos gone?" He said snarling. "Dey…er…ran away boss."

"**WHAT?" **Grimgor bellowed and raised his heavy fist.

"Uh…It wasn't my fault boss…" Stuttered Borgut, fearful for his life, Grimgor was almost always on the verge of a violent temper something like this could really push him over the edge. "I told them not run away boss…honest."

"Agh!" Grimgor spat and raised his fist up in the air; Borgut whimpered with fear and closed his eyes waiting for a death that never came. Grimgor had noticed something, something far more important than beating his second in command senseless, something far far bigger. Slowly he dropped a thankful Borgut to the floor and stared hard at the figure, clad in bronze and red armour, drenched in blood and like Grimgor thick in the fighting. The armoured man fought with a skill and brute strength far beyond any normal being, his bronze axe, masked by a thick layer of blood and guts, swinging to and fro like a deadly pendulum. Many fine Orc warriors lay dead by his hand, where he walked death followed. Instantly Grimgor knew this was Crom, the he was her to fight. Grimgor had proven himself countless times against the best warriors the empire could throw at him. But here, Grimgor knew, was someone he could really respect, someone he could treat as a (lesser of course) equal. Finally, Grimgor thought, someone on this planet worth fighting.

Wading through carnage and blood soaked bodies Grimgor stood before the demonic man, and beneath the helmet he spied a glimpse of a pair glowing red eyes. "Crom!" Grimgor yelled, throwing the morbid standard to the ground and raising a bloodied Gitsnik up in the air. Turning, the armour clad warrior dispatched his foe with a quick strike to the throat and faced Grimgor. To Crom, Grimgor must have been a terrible sight. Seven foot tall, drenched in blood from head to toe, carrying a massive axe in his huge fist.

Crom walked forward and stared right in Grimgor's good and Grimgor leered back. Neither warrior was confronted by any other; soldiers of both sides had the sense to leave them to it. For what seemed like an age they stared at each other, man against beast, warrior against warrior, two of the most ferocious and bloodthirsty fighters of an age, staring at each other across a small piece of flat land.

It was Crom who broke the mutual truce, barrelling forward into the gigantic Orc swinging his sword left and right with incredible speed. Grimgor, surprised by the ferocity of Crom's attack, was on the back foot. Sensing that he had the upper hand, Crom pushed on with mighty sweeps of his demon blade raining down upon Grimgor again and again. Struggling to block the warrior's furious strikes Grimgor was hard pressed to prevent losing to Crom within the first few minutes. At last Grimgor lowered his axe and blocked the next strike with the massive metal gauntlet that reached down his left arm, the sword pinged off denting the metal but the second of surprise it afforded him was all he needed. With a roar of triumph he charged forward and slashed wildly with Gitsnik but found no gap in Crom's defences.

The epic duel continued for hours with neither fighter able to get the upper hand. For every blow there was a parry, for every quick swipe there was an even quicker block, several times it looked as though one was about to be defeated but then came straight back into it again. Blow after Blow fell, strike after strike rang out. So consumed in their own personal battle were the two that neither noticed how their own sides were faring in the battle that raged around them. Even as the battle turned in favour of the chaos forces and the Orcs began to flee from the field the duel raged on. Both Orc and Man were convinced that their victory would soon come, nothing would break the stalemate.

At last, as the sun began to dip behind the mountains and disappear for the night, the two warriors pulled apart, both bleeding profusely from a multitude of cuts. Both were exhausted, the duel had stretched them to breaking point, sweat slicked the arms and hands of both great warriors. For a long moment they both stood, breath frosting the air, watching other warily with mutual respect. Slowly and grudgingly Crom took a step backward and shook his head. He dropped his sword and turned back towards his own army. For a moment Grimgor thought of grabbing the sword and hacking Crom down as he turned his back but the great Orc warlord decided against it. Clenching his sweat and blood drenched fists he cast baleful looks in Crom's direction and slowly and purposefully trudged of the battlefield following his troops.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Siege of Kislev**

**A**rchaon sat atop Dorghar, his demonic steed on the snow covered hill and savoured the smell of death and blood that pervaded the air around him. Archaon himself had changed dramatically since his days as a young priest of Sigmar, he know stood about six feet tall and wore a huge suit of black armour, adorned with heretical symbols and spikes. He carried in his hand the cruel sword, Slayer of Kings inside of which was bound the great demon U'zuhl. On top of his black helmeted head he wore his latest acquisition, the lopsided Crown of Dominion. Smoke drifted up from the buildings around the foot of the hill and Archaon laughed as he saw several frightened citizens of Kislev run screaming form their burning homes only to be brutally chopped down by the black clad warriors that stalked around in the snow. It had been six months since he vanquished the bloodthirster in the first shrine to Chaos in the world's edge mountains. The epic fight had been long, hard and bloody but Archaon in the end prevailed and gained his prize, the sorceorous crown of Domination.

The sounds of fighting and burning met his ears as his army mopped up the only Kislevites that stayed out of the relative safety of the walls of Kislev proper once his huge hoard had virtually annihilated the meagre Kislev defences. Before him stretched the city itself, huge and uncompromising, grey and brown in contrast to the white of the ground and the blizzard that had raged all through the short battle. Slowly Archaon pulled his gaze away from the carnage and strode up the hill to gaze upon his army. As he reached the summit he realised for the first time, the full extent and size of his magnificent army. The great Chaos host stretched for miles before him innumerable camp fires shining like stars in the sea of white that covered everything. The great war machines that were camped towards the back of the army stood up, resplendent against the grey horizon. The great engines of war, supplied in return for fresh slaves, were designed and built by Chaos Dwarves from the north. Pride of the army was the great Hellcannon. As big as a small building, it fired a huge warpstone chunk powerful enough to destroy anything it was fired at, and being warpstone any ground it touched would instantly become fallow and anything that lived or worked near where it had hit would be hideously mutated over time until they degenerated into some hideous half lifeform, a gloopy mass of jelly and bone.

Looking around Archaon spied one of his four lieutenants Melekh flying around the assembled army on top of a hovering disc. The disc was blue and covered in sharp spines; the mage could summon it and dismiss it to and from the warp whenever he wanted.

"Melekh!" Archaon called and the flying disc turned and sped its way back towards the snowy ridge where Archaon stood, the plumes smoke from the burning buildings rising high into the air behind him. The disc hovered over and slowed down for its master to step off onto the cold snow. The disc hovered for a minute before Melekh turned and dismissed it with a click of his fingers. A huge black space appeared behind it, as though a rip had appeared in the fabric of reality, the blue demon was sucked screaming back into the warp.

When he had finished Melekh turned to Archaon and he studied the great mage carefully. He was of average height and slim build and wore a long flowing bleu robe, adorned with many multi coloured patterns that constantly shifted positions. His head was the most striking thing about him; he had long blond hair that came down to his shoulders and instead of a nose he had a long orange beak. Many people had asked about how he got this and they usually ended up with one themselves or even worse mutations, depending on Melekh's mood. "Hello, your wish, my Lord?" He chittered. His eyes glinted with malice and unspoken truths as he talked giving him an air of mysteriousness that most people found threatening. Archaon's relationship with Melekh was a strange one; he had found him a few decades previously whilst searching for one of his artefacts. He had been outcast from his village because of his strange nose and when Archaon first saw him he knew he would one day become a powerful sorcerer. Sensing his power Archaon offered to take him under his wing as an apprentice. Melekh gratefully accepted having no home, no food and no clothes save those on his back. In the few decades that had passed Melekh had developed into a powerful sorcerer in his own right and Archaon knew, due to Melekh's chosen path, that should the opportunity arise the Tzentchian sorcerer would betray him without batting an eyelid. But for the moment he was a powerful if slightly mistrusted ally.

"What are spirits within camp?" Archaon demanded.

"The troops are getting restless sir, they need to spill some human blood, it's what they were born to do." Melekh replied.

"How many prisoners do we have?"

"At last count two thousand Sir."

"Good, give a thousand to the troops and tell the they are theirs to do with what they wish." Archaon said finally.

"With respect sir the army contains over one hundred thousand troops, I don't think one thousand humans will satisfy their…. urges."

"Well then, we launch an attack. Tomorrow at dawn. We will march at Kislev and raze it to the ground. Then our troops will have all the sport they need."

"Are you sure that is wise sir?"

"Well, the defenders are already demoralised; they may have enough supply to last months for all we know and that's enough time for the empire to marshal an army against us and I don't need that right now. So, we attack Kislev tomorrow. Ready the troops and get the archers and the Hellcannon up here. Lets hope that this blizzard will have stopped by tomorrow."

The attack on Kislev proper was launched the following day, it was brutal, bloody and efficient. The chaos war engines pounded the ancient city's walls with projectiles turning them to dust within a few hours, flaming arrows too rained down upon the buildings and as midday approached the great city was in flames, a great pillar of smoke rising into the frosty air, a warning signal to the rest of the Empire, Archaon, Everchosen of chaos had arrived.

Archaon smiled wickedly and gave the order to enter the burning city; the survivors were rounded up into groups, their meagre possessions looted. Many burned to death, trapped inside their wooden houses, fire spread easily along the dry timber house rows. Those strong enough to work would be taken as prisoners, the rest would be massacred and die a bloody death. Gangs of black clad warriors roamed the streets looking for fresh victims, raping and pillaging as they went. Kislev had become hell on earth, only death awaited all those in the city.

As the sun once again, began to set behind the horizon, casting long bloody shadows over a long and terrible day, every single inhabitant of Kislev was either dead or working in forced labour camps. The city itself had been burnt to the ground, razed to rubble and everything of value in the city, stolen or burned.

Yet even as night fell, and the flames of Kislev flickered in the sky like a midnight sun, the Empire had not given up hope. Archaon stood atop a pile of fresh skulls, picked clean by the ravenous snow wolves that roamed the snowy plains of Kislev and the north. Booming his voice across the plain he addresses the assembled warriors, flames sparkling off his armour like a furnace, smoke wrapping around him like a mystical cloak. "Legions of Chaos," he roared, and the crowd whipped into frenzy, shouting and screaming dark prayers to their gods. "We have victory!" He paused and a massive cheer erupted from the crowd, a cheer so loud it shook the earth itself. "Come let us enjoy the spoils, for step one is complete, the forces of Chaos will be victorious!" Another humongous cheer and Archaon stepped down from the pile of skulls.

"Sir I bring bad news," A skinny, rag clad boy approached Archaon and bowed deeply into the snow. "May I have permission to tell you it?"

Archaon nodded slowly.

"A massive army approaches from the south, led by the grand theognist himself, they will be upon us within the hour."

"How large?"

"Almost as big as are own sir, at least one hundred thousand troops," the boy replied

Archaon roared with anger and brought the slayer of kings down upon the boys head, chopping it from his shoulders. Blood stained the snow red as the head rolled own to Archaon's feet he kicked it aside and one again stood up on the makeshift skull podium.

"My army, once again…" He shouted. The crowd turned and face him; they were in the palm of his gauntleted hand. "We must prepare for war!" The biggest cheer of the rally rose up from the crowd as they screeched, hollered and raised weapons and fists in preparation for battle. "The army of the grand theognist approaches; we must fight this new enemy and show the rest of the world the true power of Chaos!" Screamed Archaon to another humungous cheer. Suddenly shouting and the sounds of fighting erupted from the back of the huge crowd, screams, and the sound of horses neighing. "Melekh?" Archaon shouted for his lieutenant. "Go see what is going on back there."

"Certainly sir," The brightly robed wizard chittered. With a click of his fingers the spiny blue disc appeared once more, Melekh mounted it, and flew off into the night. Archaon waited as the sound of even worse fighting erupted to the south of the group. The assembled warriors began to look around nervously wondering what to do. Sensing the anxiety, Archaon shouted. "Wait here!" and all chatter stropped immediately. "Come on Melekh you beak nosed fool," Archaon muttered under his breath. At once as if he could read Archaon's thoughts the shiny blue disc shot across the black sky and stopped feet in front of Archaon. Melekh was panting, and his bright cloak was stained with blood. "Not good news my lord…" he panted. "The enemy is upon us already, the army of the grand theognist is right behinds us…we're trapped."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

News

Karl Franz woke up with a start to find the Teclis standing above his bed, smiling. Cursing the Emperor pulled the sheets up and stared at the elf mage angrily. "What is going on…Why are you here…. How did you get in, it's disgraceful…" He spluttered.

"I am here, that is what is going on. I am here to tell you something, that is why I am here and finally, the _coup de grace_, I got in via teleportation. Happy now? You humans ask such obvious questions."

"No I am not happy. Now tell me your news and get out, this better be worth it."

"It is."

"Well got in with it then," The Emperor shouted.

"Well Okay, First off the good news, King Leoncour has agreed to help us. He has declared an errant war against Archaon and his followers and will be sending an army over soon. Also, as we speak the grand theognist marches on Kislev, which, my sources report has been completely sacked and burned to the ground."

"Impossible!" Shouted Karl Franz, "it would take an army of hundreds of thousands to complete such a task."

"It did." Teclis replied simply.

"Are you telling me that there is an army of one hundred thousand Chaos followers on my doorstep and I didn't know about it?"

"Yes," Said Teclis again, "I am."

"Sigmar help us!" Breathed Karl heavily. "This cannot be happening!"

"It can and is." Said teclis. The way the human mind worked interested and amused Teclis in equal measures. The fact that Karl could deny that something was happening in spite of overwhelming evidence amazed Teclis. He had never seen anything like it.

"Also a great battle was fought by Blackfire Pass earlier today. The Orcs of Grimgor Ironhide were severely defeated by a great army of Chaos tribesmen led by a man named Crom the Conqueror. Reports suggest he is in league with Archaon and it is his intention to attack the empire from the west while Archaon himself assails us from the north. It is in our interest that he is stopped immediately."

"How do you know all of this Teclis? Even you could not have been in all those places at once."

"I have my ways."

The emperor stood up, walked to the corner took his clothes and dressed hurriedly. "Quickly," He said, "We must organise a meeting, the electors must know what you have just told me."

"Are you sure that is the wisest decision, Karl? You must have realised by now, there is a spy within the ranks of the electors."

"Ridiculous!"

"How else do you think the enemy could have decided to attack Kislev so quickly?" Said Teclis.

"As usual, you speak the truth, Teclis. We must tread carefully, trust no-one from our own. I shall call a great meeting of the civilised races, the greatest the world has ever seen! The enemy attack as one and so we shall defend as one too. The world must be unified under one banner if we are to survive."

"Well let's go."

"I woun't go dere if I woz you!" Said the Orc shaman, green dribble accompanying his words. "E's angry!"

"Nah, you don't say!" said Borgut sarcastically; head butting the shaman who collapsed to the floor bleeding from his now broken nose. "That'll be the day when I let some shaman tell me wot to do."

Stepping over the comatose body of the Shaman he walked slowly down the steep path into the deep ravine. As he turned the corner, he suddenly stopped as he had he trod in something very squishy and very sticky. Looking down he saw the remains of a night big boss, its intestines hanging out where it had been completely disembowelled. Scraping a part of it off his shoe he looked up to see that it wasn't the only one. Scattered all around the floor and walls off the ravine were dead night goblins, each one horribly dismembered or cut up and blood stains, marked every available surface.

Staring down he finally noticed Grimgor, hacking away at the rock face with Gitsnik, great clangs and bashes meeting Borgut's ears. With each smack more rock fell off its surface and Borgut stood fixated watching his boss smack and smack the rock for no apparent reason. Stopping for a second Grimgor turned and Borgut ducked behind a rock, fearful of his boss's legendary temper. "Well," Grimgor said to himself, "I ain't never not won before but I still ain't lost so I guess dat means I have a win ratio of….er…who cares. Anyway I've ad a vision from you Mork and I'm gonna go on the biggest Waaaaagh! You've ever seen sand I'm gonna bash and smash that humie Archaon into the ground and then I'm gonna show the world who's best!"

Borgut smiled as he watched one of the greatest Orc warlords that ever lived hold a conversation with rock. "Now Mork, I know we didn't win, but it aint my fault, it was the flamin gobbos but dey aint gonna be messin me around no more," he motioned at one of the bodies that lay strewn around the floor. "Now I've got to get my army sorted, where's dat pesky Borgut got to?" He looked around for a second and then yelled at the top of his lung "Boooorguttt!"

"Yes boss?" Borgut stepped out from behind the rock.

"Dat was quick," noted Grimgor and shook his head. "Anyway, get the army ready to move, we're going on a Waaaagh!"

"Yes boss. Is dat everyfing?"

"Well come and get some smiffs to cut this rock out of the cliff. It's coming wiv us."

The gigantic Orc walked forward and past Borgut and round the corner. When he was sure his boss was gone Borgut walked down slowly towards the rock. Crudely carved into the rock, even though it was spattered with Goblin blood, was a giant face. Borgut smiled as he realised, it was Mork. Truly Grimgor had had a vision, this Waaaaagh! was going to be big, and Borgut was glad he was on Grimgor side.

The assembled representatives of all the nations of the world sat around the long tables in the great hall, the streams of sunlight beaming through the painted windows bathing the proceedings in a golden light.

At the far table were the chosen of the Dwarves and Elves. Prince Tyrion, greatest elf warrior for generations occupied one seat, a bandage wrapped around his eyes where Malekith, king of the dark elves had wounded him in mortal combat. Tyrion was now utterly blind yet, through years of training, he now fought as well as the greatest of normal men and beside him, talking animatedly about news from their homeland, sat Teclis. Next to him sat Thorgrim Grudgebearer, sitting in begrudged silence clutching the ancient book of grudges close to his chest. The old leather bound tome contained, within its pages, every single slight or betrayal that had ever befallen the dwarf people including all those dwarfs who had perished in battle. As an enemy fell in battle a dwarf name would be crossed of the list and at the end of the battle those new dwarfs who had perished would be added to it. Next to him sat Ungrim Ironfist, Slayer king of Karak Kadrin, his long orange beard trailing almost to his feet. Next to him propped up against a chair stood his great double sided axe, almost as big as the dwarf himself.

At the next table sat the representatives for all the human nations of the world. A few of the border princes, one of the Sultans sons of Araby and even a fur clad representative of far off Cathay. But most importantly at that table sat King Leoncour of Brettonia and his sorcerous ally Morgan Le Fay. Morgan was dressed with a long flowing green dress, a small frog rested on her shoulder. Legend has it that the frog was a long forgotten prince who the almost ageless enchantress had turned into a frog when he had displeased her.

And finally at the last table sat all the present elector Counts and the empty seat that was usually reserved for the grand theognist himself.

At once there was a great bang as the emperor himself strode into the hall, glittering crown lopsided atop his head and long luxurious robe trailing behind him on the pristine clean floor. With a flourish he reached his throne, took two steps and turned to face his audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Men, Elves and Dwarves," He said with confidence his words positively dripping with charm, "I declare the first concave of light, in session!" He paused for scattered applause and sank down into the throne with a theatrical sigh.

At length he stood up once more and began to speak again "I am sorry ladies and gentlemen, I…feel…rather…faint." He said simply, before giving a long swoon and collapsing onto the steps. He tumbled down it with speed and landed crumpled at the bottom of the steps, shivering hard. The first to react was Teclis, with a click of his fingers he was beside his friend once again. Turning the comatose emperor over he saw the foam dribbling from the emperor's mouth and instantly knew what had happened.

"Shall I call a doctor," Shouted Otto from his table.

"No," Replied Teclis. "This man is beyond mere medical attention. He has been poisoned."

At once uproar erupted in the room, people began to lay the blame on others, arguments broke out and weapons were soon drawn. Amongst the chaos Wolfgang Klaus smiled to himself and snuck over to the double doors where he slid out of the room and out of sight.

Teclis raised his hands above his head and began to chant, ignoring the frenzied scuffles and arguments happening all around. In silence he placed his hands on the emperor's chest, a look of complete concentration on his face. Ancient energies crackled around his hand, the hair of everyone in the room stood up with the incredible force, a highly visible blue aura surrounded him as he worked. At length he began to chant louder and louder until a last he stopped. Teclis sat for a while panting heavily whilst the blue aura slowly dissipated. When it at last disappeared completely he collapsed to the floor with exertion, his face pale and limbs weak. The stunned assembly stood and watched as the colour slowly spread back into the emperor's face, and the foam began to disappear. With a groggy moan the emperor stood up and looked around him, bewildered.

"What….What happened?" He said quietly.

"You were the victim of an assassination attempt," Said Otto Rehargel quickly, "But Teclis here saved you from the poison."

"Is he allright?"

"I'm fine," Teclis sat up looked at Karl. "Just the exertion took it out of me a bit, that's all."

"Have we any idea who the culprit was?" Said the Emperor, standing up and taking a few wobbly steps forward.

"No."

"Well then, let us proceed with the meeting." The Emperor, visibly shaken by the incident made his way up the stairs and sat down heavily on the throne. "The concave of Light…may commence!"

There was a complete silence in the great chamber; birds chittered in the background. "Well?" Said The Emperor looking around the room at the assembled dignitaries, "Has anyone anything to say?" He paused for response, "No? Then I shall begin. What news do we have of the threats that face our land?"

Leoun Leoncour was the first to speak, his heavy accent barely comprehensible. "Zere are record numbers of beastmen amassing in ze forests of my country, every day they become bolder and more daring. I fear soon zey may launch an attack."

"Pah!" Spat Thorgrim. "That is nothing; we are assailed by two enemies at once, Skaven pour forth from the abandoned Karaks and the huge horde of Crom the Conqueror marches from the west. Let alone the rumours of Grimgor's new Waaaagh, It's a wonder we haven't packed up and left already!"

"Excuse me?" Spluttered Kurt Angelus, "Grimgor is dead!"

"Dead? My scouts saw him slaughtering Chaos warriors with their own eyes, like a demon they said he was, covered in gore from head to toe carrying that massive axe of his."

"Well your scouts can't be reliable then. Grimgor Ironhide died thirty years ago; he took a cannonball shot to the chest. He_ is_ dead!"

"'Fraid not" Replied Thorgrim, "I saw him battling Crom with my own eyes I did. My scouts called me to the field when the orcs ran away. Grimgor Ironhide is one hundred percent alive and killing like he always was. Now are you calling me a liar?"

"No." Kurt sank back into his seat, casting sullen looks in Thorgrim's direction. The dwarf laughed heartily when he saw this, "There's no need to cry! You lost fair and square young man."

"OK," said Karl Franz, "I think we can accept Grimgor Ironhide_ is_ alive," he glared at Kurt Angelus. "But the question still remains what do about…"

The emperor suddenly cut off and stared at the door, the sounds of fighting and shouting sounded from outside the ancient doors. One by one each of the members drew swords and it was Ungrim Ironfist who stood up first. Making his way towards the door, the tattooed dwarf carefully placed his hand upon the door and silently opened the great door. It opened slowly with a huge creak and Ungrim stepped into the corridor out of sight.

One second later he reappeared dragging an overweight and balding priest of Sigmar with a long beard, behind him. "He says he has someone to talk to you." The orange haired dwarf said gruffly letting the man go. "The other ones out there too, I sensed he was powerful so I left him alone. Do you want me to get him too?"

"That will be fine, Ungrim." Said the Emperor, looking at the priest as he stood up and dusted himself off like nothing had happened. When he finished he turned to the Emperor and bowed deeply. "My Lord, Gentlemen." He bowed also to the rest of the room. "And ladies." He added noticing Morgan Le Fay. "I am Luthor Huss and I have important tidings for your ears, some good some bad."

"Go on," said the Emperor. He cut off protests from Kurt with a quick glare. He might as well humour the madman before he had him escorted from the palace and imprisoned for the rest of his life.

"First, the grand theognist is, or maybe now is victorious I hope, fighting Archaon's great horde before the gates of Kislev. In all honesty he underestimated the size of the Chaos forces and I believe he has not a hope in hell."

"Nothing there that we did not already know. Continue."

"OK," Said the man, beginning to sweat, his face red. "I have in my company an extraordinary young man, he has extraordinary regenerative powers, he is wise beyond his years and most astounding of all he just fought a bloodthirster toe to toe and _won!_"

At this there was great guffaw around the room and many began to laugh uproariously. "Show us this great hero of our generation then…" The Emperor said a smile on his lips. "Or is he perchance invisible too? Or can he fly, or is he Sigmar himself reborn maybe?" With each sentence more and more laughter emanated from the guests and Luthor Huss was the butt of the joke.

"That I believe he is." The old man said calmly. "I truly believe. Esteemed Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Valten of Sigmar."

When Valten entered the room in all his glory all the laughter cut short immediately as the whole room gazed in wonder at the boy and the wondrous mark upon his chest. Valten had one hand behind his back, he too was smiling. "Show them, Valten."

The young man took the hand out from behind his back and a gasp came from every person in the room except Teclis who just stood a slight knowing smile on his lips.

In Valten's muscled hand he held he the head of the great demon, its mouth still wide, fangs showing. Its eye hung out by a stretch of sinew and nerves and most of the top half of the skull was missing but it was clear to all what it was.

Stepping down from the throne Karl Franz silently motioned for Teclis. The elf mage stood up and made his way over to where Valten and the Emperor stood. "Is this real?" Karl motioned to the bloody mess that was the bloodthirster's head. Teclis already knew the answer but clicking his fingers and uttering a single word a small but brilliant flame appeared above his fingertip. Waving it underneath the head he waited for a few second until it caught fire, but the flames were not normal, they were black as pitch. "It's real." He said and clicked his fingers again, all the flames disappeared.

"Teclis, is there anyway they could have got hold of this without killing it themselves?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then truly…" The Emperor said, turning to Valten. "You are chosen of Sigmar, his sign emblazoned on your bare flesh. There is no room for doubt; you are saviour of our world."

Spontaneously he dropped to his knees and bowed to the floor for the one he knew would save him and his people. In quick order the rest of the room followed suit even the proud dwarves. Valten stood in the midst of the bowing bodies, a young farm boy from nowhere who knew nothing about nothing yet he had been blessed, he had been chosen. He was chosen. He would kill Archaon and save every man, woman and child in the empire. The man of fire would not kill them this time. He would never win.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The Long March

Archaon turned his hulking body to face his challengers, bodies lay strewn all around him, he was covered in blood and gore, the snow was stained red around where he stood. With a cry he charged forward disembowelling one soldier and decapitating another with one mighty sweep of the slayer of kings. U'zuhl cackled uncontrollably within its confines, glad to be amongst death and destruction once again. Screaming dark oaths he charged forwards into the thick of the fighting with no regard for the safety of himself or his own troops. The mighty sword swung left and right in terrible arcs, each time bodies flew into the air, he was a killing machine, cold and uncompromising as the snow around him.

Archaon laughed as the men of the empire turned to fall back, way from him and his terrible powers yet there was no escape. Terrible daemons stalked the night, seductive serpent like women with snipping claws that lured men in with evil promises before beheading them there were huge men with terrible diseases, rotting flesh hung off them and diseased innards were clearly visible, they were constantly followed by swarms of flies that attacked any soldiers that came close enough, crawling up their nostrils and under their eyes.

Bellowing thanks to his terrible gods he charged forward once again, laughing with glee as he felled yet more of the empire soldiers. At last there came a call from the night and Archaon listened intently. "Rally to me, to me! To me, valiant men, to me!" The call came loud and clear and Archaon set off in search of the voice for if he killed this man then surely the rest of the army would follow. At length Archaon found the one he was looking for, a stout old man, in priests' clothes and carrying a large war hammer. He rode atop a great white horse and continued to yell for his men even as Archaon came towards him. With a terrible roar Archaon barrelled into the man and his horse, knocking the horse over and mortally wounding it. The great white animal fell to the floor, crushing its priest rider from the waist down. The man lay on the snow helplessly staring upwards at the dark, fiery shape that towered above him. "Please, please…" The old man moaned, "I will give you anything, anything you want! You may have riches beyond wildest dreams…"

"No." Said Archaon simply and brought the slayer of kings down on the old mans frail neck, cleaving his head from his shoulders. The moustached head rolled along the ground to Archaon's feet. Screaming his victory he brought an iron clad foot down upon it and laughed a demonic laugh, for he was victorious.

As soon as the grand theoginist died the empire soldiers began to lose their resolve, almost all led from the battlefield until only isolated pockets of resistance were left. Archaon left those for his troops to have their fun; he had more important things to take care of. "Melekh?" He called and within seconds the bright robed magician was beside him as he walked. "Yes my lord?" He said.

"Kill off the remaining troops and then rally the men into units. Tell them to pack everything they need into bags, we set off in the next few hours."

"Where are we going?"

"We march on Middenheim."

"So soon?"

"The winds of chaos blow in our favour, we must press home our advantage before they have time to react. Middenheim will burn within the week."

The great crowd stretched across the plaza like a sea of bodies, it went on as far as the eye could see, down to the filthy river Reik where many stood up to ankle deep in the sewage ridden water just to get a glimpse of Valten, their saviour. Valten stood, like an ant in comparison to the huge crowd that had gathered to hear him speak, on a small podium at the head of the crowd. Fanatical cries of devotion came up from the crowd, people packed into every available space, hanging off lampposts, leaning out of windows and many poorer denizens had decided to rent out the roof space of their houses for people to sit and get an almost perfect view of the proceedings.

"I can't do it," Said Valten turning to Luthor, "There are too many people."

"Nonsense," Said Luthor with a grin, "Just act natural, anyways you can't not go out there now or there'll be riots!"

"I suppose," Said Valten. Slowly he stepped out onto the hastily erected platform. Gulping he looked across the massive crowd each man, women and child completely silent ready to hear him speak. "People of the empire…" he said, and a massive cheer erupted from the crowd. _Damn it! _Thought Valten, _if I cursed them all to hell they'd still cheer! _"I do not want your respect… I do not want your hopes on my shoulders! I am but a man, for what can I do against the million strong horde that is rolling towards us at this very moment…" Muffled applause from the crowd. An imperial scribe lent onto the side of the stage and handed Valten a small piece of paper with a pre-prepared speech written on it. He made cutting motions with his hand as he did so. Taking the script Valten took it and threw it across the podium and into the crowd. Turning his attentions back to them he continued unperturbed.

"My people..." he said to indignant looks from Karl Franz, "I wish to give you nothing but the truth. Be under no illusions… we are losing this war." Great gasps from the crowd but the young man carried on nonetheless. "The enemy has already sacked Kislev, its inhabitants lie dead or dying," Hushed whispers and worried looks arose from the crowd.

"Archaon's army is great and strong but those who wish to aid your world and fight for freedom, I call to you now! All men over twenty and younger than forty, meet me on the plains by the great gate by noon tomorrow and we will march to defend Middenheim, you are not obliged to attend but I implore you, heed my call and fight for what you believe!"

With that a great roar erupted from the crowd and Valten left the stage with a triumphant look on his face. "I pledge two thousand stout dwarves to your cause," came a voice from behind Valten. He turned to see Thorgrim Grudgebearer standing behind him, book of grudges still in hand. "Long may the alliance of dwarfs and men stand solid as a rock." With that he turned and walked slowly out of sight.

Valten went over to the corner and collapsed into the wicker chair. Suddenly as if by magic Tyrion appeared beside him. "The isle of Ulthuan pledges one thousand highly skilled swordsmen and five hundred of our greatest cavalry in your hour of need. Now my brother and I must return to the emerald isle for great plans have been set in motion and we must play our part. With a blinding flash Teclis appeared by Tyrion. "Goodbye Valten," The elf mage said, "When you arrive," He smiled slightly; "I think you will find a pleasant surprise."

"Goodbye Teclis."

"Now brother, I shall be with you in a minute I just have to find Karl." With a click of his magical fingers a great shimmering golden gate appeared out of nowhere. It hovered a few inches of the ground, a cold wind blasted through it blowing Tyrion long flowing hair back into his face. The gate opened to an image of a pale blue sky with infrequent misty clouds and immediately Tyrion stepped through it and disappeared. With that the magical gate seemed to implode upon itself getting smaller and smaller until it completely disappeared into thin air. As if this was completely normal Teclis then strode of in search of The emperor.


End file.
